


Thank the Viper

by TsarAlek



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Light game spoilers, M/M, Multi, Sickfic, Slow Build, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarAlek/pseuds/TsarAlek
Summary: Therion is gravely injured after an encounter with a rather large and rather HOSTILE viper who very nearly seperates Cyrus from his life. Therion's recovery is slow, the days go by, his friends and companions worry even as Alfyn and Ophelia work to heal Therion of his wounds. In the midst of it, Cyrus reflects and comes to some realizations about himself, and about his thieving friend who may be just a bit more than that to him.
Relationships: Background others, Cyrus Albright/Therion, will be added later - Relationship
Comments: 19
Kudos: 39





	1. His Eyes So Green

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2 year anniversary Octopath! I wasn't planning on releasing chapter one on the anniversary- it just kinda worked out that way! I have some chapters planned for this fic- approximately 5-7! I love they- I love they a lot. Tags and Rating will be updated as there is smut planned! I hope you enjoy!

“Freezing cold entrap them- Glacius Claudere!” It was a spell Cyrus had grown increasingly accustomed to casting here, deep in the Sunlands of Osterra. The reptiles and desert dwellers that assailed them constantly had no resistance to the cold and oft times would get spooked and leave his party alone after finding out Cyrus was a skilled sorcerer. 

The lizard men in front of him who had been brandishing crude weapons of curved and spiky iron watched as their leader fell to the ground, ice firmly stabbed through him. They wailed an awful hiss and turned to run off in the direction of the endless sands. 

Cyrus sighed, it was always something like this. If he could pick out the leader and incapacitate him then the followers usually took it to mean  _ we can’t handle this one.  _ “Well then, onward friends?” 

Cyrus turned to face his companions but found a large shadow looming over him. Clouds this far south were a rarity indeed and as he looked, he saw a rather large viper rearing up into the air, ready to… strike. Cyrus reacted a moment too late, his roll to the side was going to be too slow, the Viper’s deadly fangs were going to find his flesh and he was going to get swallowed.

He completed his panic roll, the strike never came. 

He heard a cry of pain, enraged more than hurting. As he glanced up, he found the strong and wiry form of Therion standing above him, between him and the deadly viper. Therion’s scarf and the cloth wrapped around his waist fluttered in the desert winds. The powerful muscles of his partially exposed back rippled as he reached up to strike the beast. Therion jabbed his sword upwards into the Viper’s maw and stabbed the roof of its mouth. 

The giant creature hissed and reeled back, coiling in on itself and screeching as its tail thrashed in the sand. But Cyrus was still focused on Therion in front of him and the profuse amount of blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder where the viper had bit him. 

Therion grunted something angry and Cyrus felt power building up in the wiry frame of his thief companion. Flames, flames engulfed his figure, burning bright blue. He yelled, enraged, and jumped into the air, far higher than any normal mortal could manage. The weapons fastened to his back fell free and floated in the air around him, he hovered there in the sky, far above the viper. His eyes burned a bright green, filled with fiery rage and he bellowed a roar, the roar of Winniheld herself. 

Therion took hold of the sword and descended upon the beast, slicing at its neck with his sword. It cut deep, but was stopped by the bone of its spine. Therion jumped back a multitude of feet and grabbed the bow, taking aim and imbuing his arrow with magical power. The drawstring snapped back into place and the snake screamed as one of its unblinking eyes was pierced by the arrow. With yet more inhuman power, Therion lunged forward and brought his axe down into the Viper’s skull, Cyrus swore he heard a crack like thunder. He somersaulted, dagger in hand, and cut ribbons over the body of the beast before jumping up and bringing his staff down atop the beast’s head again, with another resounding crack. He bellowed as he grabbed his lance and finally put the beast out of its misery, stabbing through its skull. The beast ceased its thrashing with a final cry and fell to the sand, intact unblinking eye still staring, though it could no longer see. Therion, bleeding profusely from the wound he had suffered at the fang of the viper stood tall atop its head. He was beautiful, powerful, like the goddess who had granted him that power in the first place, it was as though he had channeled all her power and become Winnehild’s avatar. He withdrew his spear and reached to fasten it to his back where it commonly resided. 

But he didn’t manage it. He swayed, and then faltered, and then fell off the snake and into the sand some ten feet below.

“Therion!” Cyrus yelled. He hiked his robes up and dropped his staff as he ran to Therion’s side. “Therion! Are you quite all right?” Cyrus fell to his knees beside Therion, who looked rather pale.

“Idiot.” Therion groaned. “How many times have I told you to watch your surroundings?” he rolled his eyes, even as Cyrus rested Therion’s head in his lap and brushed his snowy bangs from his eyes. 

“Alfyyyyn!” Cyrus cried, “Assistance please!” 

“Tsk. I’ll be fine.” Therion attempted to sit up but found he had no strength in his limbs to do so.

Cyrus looked out over the sand, his eyes caught glimmers, the glimmer of the sequins and gold that dangled on the edge of the outfits that Alfyn and Primrose wore. Alfyn’s green dancing vest blew open as he ran, and he looked worried as he rounded the corpse of the great viper. 

“What happened here?”

“Oh, the usual. Giant Viper, bit Therion,  _ help _ ?” Cyrus emphasized nervously.

Alfyn fell to the sand beside them and Primrose stood over them, providing what shade to cover him that she could with her slender form.

Alfyn examined the large wound in Therion’s shoulder. It had cut right through the thin fabric of his top and buried deep into his shoulder. The dagger-like fangs of the viper were not to be trifled with. After trying to move him, and being met with yowls of pain, Alfyn concluded his examination with a wince.

“He’s poisoned.” Alfyn opened the pack on his side, stood up and walked over to the corpse of the snake. “The bleeding can be managed but this breed of viper is known for its venom, it’s a favorite poison among assassins.” Alfyn took out his axe. He twirled around, a flourish he had taken to after he started dancing, and smashed one of the vipers fangs cleanly off. 

An ooze dripped from the fang and Alfyn carefully dripped some into a bottle. 

He ran back around and got out his mortar and pestle. “How you feelin Therion?”

“Greaaaat. I love getting bitten by giant snakes. It’s one of life’s greatessst pleasures. You should try it. This idiot here almost did.” Therion pointed his eyes toward Cyrus with a sarcastic flourish.

“I apologize. You really ought not have done that, no need to place yourself in danger for my sake.”

“Idiot. You would have died. And I have resistance to poison anyway.”

“And now you teeter on death’s door instead. Really, you should have let me take the hit. It was my mistake,” Cyrus admitted with a sigh.

Therion snorted, dismissing Cyrus’s words with the roll of his eyes.

“Well, that resistance is helping a bit but... This is pretty rare stuff.” Alfyn didn’t look up from the plants he was grinding into paste- his brow was sweating and his eyes were trained on the green goop. 

“You don’t always have to be the hero Therion, we are all only mortal- even if we did earn the favor of the gods.” Primrose gently laughed. “Still, be careful.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Miss,  _ Champion of the Weak _ , Azelhart.” Therion groaned. “I feel like throwing up.” 

“Now, now. That’s enough Therion.” Primrose smiled, “Take it easy, you’ve done more than enough for one day, snake slayer.”

“Done.” Alfyn scooped up the goopy green substance and placed it atop a bandage. “Cyrus, remove his top. I need to get to that shoulder wound. 

“Errrr. Well, very well.” Cyrus swallowed. He raised Therion’s good arm up and gingerly pulled the fabric up and over, freeing his left side from it’s covering. “How do I… without hurting you?”

“Just do it Books.” Therion rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well… very well.” Cyrus held his breath as he slipped Therion’s head through the neck hole of his tightly fitted half shirt. Cyrus willed himself focus on helping and not staring at the tan of his exposed chest and the scars that covered his wiry body. “Hold your breath Therion.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

As gingerly as he could, Cyrus pulled the punctured cloth from Therion’s shoulder wound. His sharp intake of breath said all that needed to be said. It was certainly painful, even if he was accustomed to wounds and poisons. The scars that criss-crossed his exposed torso each had a story, no doubt. And the large puncture wound in his shoulder was about to join the plethora of stories that Therion had to tell. The tale of Therion and the Viper… Cyrus couldn’t help but think it had a ring to it. 

Now freed from his shirt, if one could call the tiny covering a shirt, Alfyn leaned down and wrapped the bandage over his wound. Alfyn wrapped the bandage around his shoulder and down Therion's upper arm to gain extra leverage, and to keep it in place. Finally, Alfyn tied it off and stood up.

Cyrus found himself again, straining not to stare at his companion, now wrapped in bandages, though he couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps it was guilt. Yes, that seemed to be the answer.

The Viper’s fang was long and pointed, not unlike a dagger. Thankfully it was no longer or larger than that, else Therion might have lost his entire arm. 

Cyrus wasn’t sure when it was he had taken hold of Therion’s good hand but he certainly took notice when Therion clenched it,  _ hard _ . Cyrus felt his finger bones might snap. Yet, Cyrus did not wince, only gently run his thumb over the top of Therion’s hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

“Right. That’ll stop the bleeding and slow the poison’s spread for a while, I’m out of noxroot though, we need to get into town so I can mix you up a proper antivenom. 

“What, that isn’t it? For the love…” Therion groaned.

“If you value breathing, which… I assume you do. We have to go now.” Alfyn raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. He had a rather commanding aura about him when he tried, despite the gentle handsomeness of his features.

“Wellspring isn’t far from here. Just a bit to the west. We should head there- Marsalim is too south and we might run into our other companions on the way back, perhaps we can have Linde carry Therion back into town. It wasn't a good day to travel in two separate groups."

“I concur, our travel to Marsalim can wait, Therion, your life is most important now.” Cyrus nodded.

Therion huffed but said nothing in response, he looked rather ill and close to vomiting, yet still defiant. As always.

“I’ll carry him. It was my fault he got injured anyway.” 

“You sure about that Cy?” Alfyn raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t exactly made of the strongest material there.” 

“I’ll manage. Therion, hop on!” Therion stared at the scholar with a most unamused expression. Primrose broke into giggles behind him.

“You’re going to have to lift him Cyrus.” She laughed.

“Errr. Right then.” Cyrus sat Therion up, and Alfyn moved behind them both. Therion wrapped his arms around Cyrus’s shoulders and allowed his head to fall forward into the crook of Cyrus’s neck. Cyrus reached around and entwined his arms with Therion’s thighs.

“Now.” Cyrus hefted Therion up, assisted by Alfyn who helped raise Therion up from behind. 

The thief was astoundingly light. Cyrus found that he hardly had an issue carrying him at all, rather, the feeling of Therion’s heated breath on his neck and exposed arms wrapped around him were eliciting an unknown response that Cyrus couldn’t quite place. He felt strange. Cyrus knew Therion was thin and wiry, his torso was partially exposed at all times, but just how thin he was… Cyrus could only imagine the life Therion had lived before this.

“We should hurry. I’ll lead the way.” Primrose took point with Alfyn by her side. The group started walking, onward into the endless expanse of sand and Cyrus found himself worrying that they would be too slow.

“Hang in there friend.” He whispered.

“Mmm. Therion responded as he slowly drifted to sleep on Cyrus’s back.

Cyrus felt something strange inside. That feeling was becoming ever more present when near the thief- something Cyrus had difficulty placing. 

His heart began to race as he followed after Primrose and Alfyn ahead of him with Therion unconscious and breathing heated breath up his neck.


	2. His Body so Lean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therion's life is on the knife's edge- he teeters between this world and the next with the venom coursing through his body. Cyrus takes it upon himself to watch Therion through the night: guilt, fear, so many things plaguing his thoughts. Erhardt warns of trouble yet brewing on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to EnlacingLines and fraldariuwus for beta-ing this chapter! The sick fic begins and these boys have caught feelings. I should note that this fic takes place after Olberic's story has ended but before Therion or Cyrus or H'annits'- they were actually going to Marsalim for her. Just some extra details to help set up. I hope you enjoy!

“Alfyn. You look worried. Tell me the truth, how is Therion’s condition  _ truly?” _

Alfyn’s pace did not slow, in fact, he had been briskly walking, nearly jogging, for the last hour. Wellspring was off on the edge of the horizon but still seemed impossibly far. Primrose had no difficulty keeping pace with him, being accustomed to the sunlands heat and wearing rather aerated clothing. But on Cyrus’s back the unconscious form of Therion still rested, and Cyrus’s long and heavy robes meant that he was sweating profusely and rather cursing this horrid desert and all its lizard men and vipers. 

“Bad.” he answered shortly. “I’m cursing myself for forgetting to stock up on noxroot. That poison is famous the world over.”

“Why do you need noxroot so badly?” Primrose asked faster than Cyrus could.

“It’s a vital ingredient in the antivenom, without it I can’t treat him, and with it he’s going to be incapacitated for a week… at least. The antivenom isn’t exactly gentle on the body.”

“You… mean… he’s still in danger?” Cyrus asked, heaving breath.

His companions finally seemed to notice his struggle to move and Alfyn ran back to shift Therion to his back instead. “Careful. Don’t move him too much. Venom spreads faster when you’re active, thank the gods he’s fallen asleep. And yes. He’s in danger. Like I said… this venom is particularly lethal. The Sunland Lizard Viper is… not a monster to be trifled with.”

“Lizard viper? It’s a lizard that is also a snake? Aren’t snakes reptiles in the first place? The name seems rather redundant.” Cyrus panted as Alfyn easily got back on the move with Therion on his back.

“Merciful gods, that was a Sunland Lizard Viper? I half believed them to be only legend.” Primrose raised an eyebrow with a look on her face that did nothing to allay the slight panic coursing through Cyrus.

“It sure was… and the name is deceiving. It’s named after its diet.” Alfyn responded to Cyrus.

“A large beast like that eats lizards? I can’t fathom how a creature of that size would manage to hold up its weight if it only eats small lizards. It’s inconceivable.”

“It doesn’t. It eats lizard men.” Alfyn replied rather dryly.

“Oh. Oh… dear.”

Cyrus jogged after his dancer companions in silence, half tempted to cast off the accursed robes and run in the near nude himself. They continued their journey through the sands in silence. Fear, regret, irritation at himself coursed through Cyrus like the venom threatening Therion’s life. The desert wastes were his least favorite locale in all of Osterra and this only made them all the worse. 

_ Foolish. I’m such a fool. I should have paid attention. I should have studied the local fauna and known what to expect. I could have fought better, dodged faster. Foolishness!  _

Cyrus cursed himself as he jogged forward, eyes trained on Therion’s form. Near his bite wound, redness was radiating out and his shoulder was swelling. Cyrus bit his lip,  _ I’m such a fool,  _ and kept running.

“Look!” Primrose broke their worried silence. “H’annit!” 

Ahead of them, wearing a look of confusion was the other half of their party walking through the desert wastes.

“Primrose? What are you doing heading back to Wellspring? Did we not agree we would meet back up in Marsalim?” Olberic asked.

“No time to explain. Therion is in danger, H’annit, we need to go.” Alfyn said rather authoritatively.

Not missing a beat, H’annit simply nodded. “Back from whence we came?”

“Yes, can he ride on Linde? We three  _ need _ to go  _ now _ .” 

“She doth not enjoy being rode like a pack animal but I am sure she shall make exception for this occasion. Will thou allowest it girl?” Linde mewled but indeed lowered herself to a sitting position. Alfyn gingerly placed Therion’s sleeping form atop the snow leopard whose coat of soft fur rather stood out against the golden shine of the sand. “We can ride a wolf I hath tamed each Alfyn. We shall greet thee back in Wellspring friends.” H’annit climbed aboard one of the large wolves that she had tamed, another stood next to Alfyn. 

“Alfyn. Please… Save him.” Cyrus pleaded, his normally cool demeanor and elegant way with words lost in worry and regret.

“I’ll do all I can.” Alfyn climbed aboard the wolf and the three beasts with their passengers sped off in the direction of the town after kicking up sand in Cyrus’s face.

Cyrus couldn’t help but feel he deserved it.

~~~~~

By the time they arrived back in Wellspring the sun was already crawling underneath the western mountains that divided the sunlands from the clifflands. Cyrus failed to recall a moment he had felt more worthless and terrible than this right now. For their part, his party seemed to have noticed the downturn in his mood and left him to his own thoughts. Each of them expressed worry in their own way, Olberic’s brow was furrowed, Primrose looked lost in her own world. Opehlia and Tressa spoke in hushed tones together, seemingly figuring out what items could help when they arrived in town.

A familiar man stood at the gate of the town, his long hair was tied back in a braid that gently fluttered with the chilly winds that washed over the desert at night. By his side, his trusty blade rested on his hip and he gripped it, constantly alert, as most veteran soldiers were. 

“Erhardt. You’ve come to greet us.” Olberic walked forward to greet his old frenemy.

“Aye. Your friends are in the barracks, I ordered they be given space and whatever supplies they needed. Your friend with the white hair and the deadly skill with a dagger looked rather… ill.” He stepped up to Olberic and held out his hand.

Olberic took it and held his arm, perhaps a moment longer than most would. “He was bitten by a Sunland Lizard Viper.”

“Merciful gods, it’s a wonder he even lives. Follow me, I’ll lead you to them. Your apothecary friend and the huntress are both with him now.” Erhardt turned on his heels and the party followed him to the opposite side of town. “I can’t say I was expecting to see you again so soon after you left, though it isn’t unwelcome. I do wish it weren’t for circumstances as dire as this.” 

“I agree, we will likely be in town for a week or more, Alfyn said Therion would need extensive recovery time. I suppose we will have time to catch up, old friend.”

“Aye. I suppose we will.” 

Cyrus noticed the smile that crept into Erhardt’s features and the way that Olberic walked a bit taller when next to him. He didn’t comment, he was too busy worrying over Therion’s condition.

The party arrived at the opposite side of town and Cyrus burst through the front faster than Erhardt or the guards could stop him.

“Upstairs!” Erhardt called after him.

Cyrus bounded up the stairs in a frenzy, robes nearly tripping him more than once. Even with his exceptional balance he quite nearly fell face forward, he only just managed to catch himself with his hands and prevent himself from tasting the fine wood.

In the corner of the large upper room lay Therion. H’annit stood with her back against the wall nearby, mindlessly petting Linde, as she did when nervous, while Alfyn sat at his side. Both looked worn.

Cyrus dashed over to their side. “How is he?” 

Alfyn looked up, and ran his fingers through his hair that was falling from its ponytail. “I’ve administered the antivenom… the rest is up to him.”

“So we wait. That’s it? There’s nothing more?” Cyrus bit his lip.

“That’s it. If he makes it the night then he has a good chance of surviving.” Alfyn looked back down towards Therion. “Then we just have to watch him for the next week or two… the antivenom sickness is going to be severe if he comes through this.”

“When. When Alfyn. Not if.” Cyrus insisted. “You’ve done enough… thank you. You should take H’annit and go get a drink, I can watch him for a while.” 

“I should be here. Just in case.” 

“Alfyn. I do believe ye should listen to Cyrus. You look ready to give up the ghost yourself friend. Come with me and have a stout. You hath most certainly earned it.” H’annit crossed over to Alfyn’s side and held out her hand. 

Reluctantly, Alfyn took it and stood up. “Change his cooling cloth every 10 minutes, wipe the sweat off every 20... and talk to him, Cyrus. It helps people to know someone is nearby.” Alfyn patted Cryus’s shoulder and allowed H’annit to lead him away.

“Would you like anyone to sit with you Cyrus? I can… if you wish.” Ophelia started.

“No. I can manage this on my own at least. Thank you.” He replied, not turning back to face her.

“Are you su-” Olberic placed a hand on her shoulder and interrupted her question.

He shook his head. “We will be in the tavern Cyrus. Watch over him for some time and one of us will come to switch with you in three hours.” 

“Aye.” But Cyrus’s eyes remained trained on Therion’s sleeping form.

The party filed back downstairs and out into the cool desert night as silently as possible.

“Are you sure that wise Olberic? Erhardt questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye… he blames himself, he needs to be there himself as atonement. Even if none of us or Therion himself blames Cyrus; he needs this.” 

“Geez. He could just ask for help. We would all do whatever was needed.” Tressa responded, rolling her eyes.

“I suppose you’re right Olberic… may Aelfric watch over them.” Opehlia looked off in the direction of the tavern with a worried expression.

“Come along. He’s going to be fine; Therion isn’t so weak as to lose to a snake like that, we’ve gained the favor of the gods themselves after all- chin up Opehlia.” Primrose smiled and gently placed her hand under Ophelia’s chin, lifting it up so they could lock eyes.

“You’re right Prim… let’s go, I’ll abstain for the night, I intend to watch after Therion when Cyrus’s shift is up.” 

Tressa, Primrose, and Ophelia walked off after H’annit and Alfyn. Olberic made to follow but Erhardt grabbed his arm and stayed him, in the midst of the empty shopping district. 

“What is it Erhardt?”

Erhardt’s expression darkened. “I hate to have to admit it but… the lizard man population has been shrinking lately- and it isn’t because of us.”

“Do you suppose there are more of them? More Vipers?” Olberic crossed his arms.

“I’ve heard reports of shifting sands and merchants who went journeying through the desert, never to return. I fear it might be so.” 

“Shall we look into it? Together?” 

“Well… I… if you’re willing.” Erhardt responded, seemingly surprised.

“Why the surprise? We’ll be here some time, and i’m not useful when it comes to medicine. You and I are far more helpful using these.” Olberic gestured to his sword. 

Erhardt laughed to himself. “Yes. I suppose we are. Shall we start looking into it in the morning?”

“Aye. But for now… I demand a rematch.”

Surprise flashed across Erhardt’s face before he broke into a grin. One side of his mouth upturned and flashed his rather sharp canine. “Try to keep up this time  _ Ol- _ beric,” he emphasised the ol of his name and laughed low, “wouldn’t want you passing out after just a few little stouts like last time would we?

“I would rather age than not Erhardt, you hardly look as though you even have to shave that baby face of yours. We’ll see who drinks who under the table this time.”

“Aye, we will.” Erhardt threw his arm around Olberic’s shoulder. It must have looked rather comical since he was more than just a few inches shorter than the large and imposing figure of the Unbending Blade. 

Olberic leaned forward reflexively and found his face rather close to Erhardt’s. He found himself laughing. Even after so many years, and everything they had been through… Erhardt had an energy to him, something that brought laughter and joy to Olberic’s day. 

As the two old friends marched toward the tavern, teasing each other as they once did so long ago, Olberic felt warmth well up inside.

And he wasn’t even drinking yet.

~~~~~ 

Therion ran. He ran and ran and ran some more. His wound was bleeding and he could feel the danger creeping up on him, he could feel it chasing him. He stumbled and hit the ground with a grunt. His side wound widened and the blood spilled over, through his hand. 

He dragged his scraped knees up to stand and broke into another sprint, desperate, frantic.

He ran. He ran as he always did. He ran as he had been trained to do. 

The gods themselves seemed intent on blocking his passage. 

A chasm spread out before him and he stood on the edge of a cliff. 

Laughter sounded behind him. 

Ugly, hideous laughter.

Therion couldn’t make out his face, couldn’t make out his words. His senses garbled until there was only the imminent threat of death. The figure creeped forward, edging him closer to the edge of the cliff. It laughed an ugly laugh. 

He spoke words even as he willed his body to move, to run. His limbs did not obey, his body did not move. 

Hands shoved him backwards and Therion fell.

~~~~~

Therion shot up out of the cot and reached for his side, for a dagger, a sword, any weapon. He found only empty space, and pain.

Therion growled and fell back to the bed, back arching as he cried out.

“Therion! You must not move so hastily- you’re okay, you’re safe.” 

Therion writhed on the cot, fire burned through his body and his insides threatened to release his breakfast. He turned to his side and held his stomach. His will lost the fight.

He wretched.

Wretched until his throat was raw and eyes were spilling unwilling tears.

Wretched and cried out.

He cursed the gods, cried for his long deceased mother, yelled in agony.

He hardly registered the hands that wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He felt the hand on his back, felt it gently pressing between his shoulder blades and running down. He wretched what seemed to be all of his guts and shook with pain and terror. 

Finally, it subsided. 

This wasn’t the first time he had been poisoned but it was certainly the most violent.

“Therion. Therion. I’m here.”

The voice spoke melodically and rang around his head. Therion half believed it was the voice of a reaper, here to drag him into the depths of hell where he would surely find himself at the end of his life. 

“I’m here.”

The hand at his back continued to stroke him reverently, calmly. It brought back so many memories of so long a time ago. The voice continued to chime in his mind, unrecognizable. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. You aren’t alone.” 

The figure kneeling beside him was nothing more than a mass of dark colors. 

“Lie back.” the figure commanded gently. It helped set him back down into the cot. His head touched the pillow and Therion felt the fire in his body subsiding momentarily.

“Stay.” Therion whispered.

The blob moved, it seemed to reach for something. Slowly the figure brought whatever it held towards Therion’s face. Panic erupted in his bones but the figure placed a hand on Therion’s chest, right over his heart. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” The figure rubbed his forehead and pushed his matted hair from his face again before placing something blessedly cold on his forehead. His blurry vision darkened and Therion let himself focus on the chill, so much better than the flames.

“Rest. I’m watching over you.”

Unable to fight the voice, Therion felt his consciousness slip back into darkness.

~~~~~

He mumbled in his sleep. “Darius… Darius… gemstones… freedom… fool…”

Incoherent babble that made no sense to Cyrus continued to fill the quiet room. Therion’s body was burning up and he was sweating profusely, soaking through the thin cot. He had been stripped of all but his undergarments and still Therion was sweating as though walking through the sweltering desert. 

Cyrus wiped his body down with the cool wet rag every twenty minutes, as instructed. This particular directive made Cyrus more than a bit uncomfortable yet he didn’t have the faintest idea of why. Scholars studied art, studied anatomy, the body was not a foreign concept to Cyrus… and yet, there was something about wiping the rigid muscles of Therion’s chest that made Cyrus’s breathing hasten. He could feel each curve as he dragged the rag over his body and could feel the burning fever even through the cold and wet cloth. 

Therion often arched in pain as the venom took its course through his body. Cyrus had no idea how he was even alive; what kind of will did Therion have that made him able to persevere through this?

Cyrus was absolutely sure that if he had been bitten, he would not have survived the ordeal. 

_ Worthless. I’m worthless here. Gods have mercy. _

He so rarely prayed, even after facing the gods themselves in battle and earning their favor. 

He was certainly praying tonight however.

Cyrus replaced the cold rag on Therion’s head for the fifth time that night. 

Therion continued to babble and burn.

~~~~~

_ Did you know? Odette used to tease me… well, still does tease me really. She always had a penchant for making me uncomfortable. And you saw how she reacted when I told her about how I was put on leave- she was in hysterics. I do wonder if there is any merit to what she says- I don’t even really do anything to warrant attention though! I simply treat everyone with a modicum of respect and show interest in them, their lives, their passions and hobbies. Is that really so rare? I don’t quite understand Therion, I have to admit.  _

_ … _

_ … _

_I’ve never even had much of_ _an interest in relationships. I never really had the time. Many even used to suspect me and Odette were in some sort of scandalous affair but we are simply good friends- well, not that she would admit that. I do wonder just how it is I’m the one who always ends up in conspiracy relationship theories… It's honestly fairly ridiculous._

_ … _

_ … _

_ I don’t really have family left, they all died when I was rather young. A lifelong partner… hm. I don’t suppose I ever saw myself as the type and I am quite dedicated to my work. Gods… would I be a bad spouse? _

_ … _

_ … _

_ What about you Therion? Is there anyone in your life like that? _

~~~~~

“Cyrus?” a knock accompanied the melodic voice.

“Come in.” 

Cyrus turned to see Ophelia standing in the doorway with a forlorn expression. “How is he?”

“I’m rather surprised his heart is still beating. I’ve been talking to him but I don’t really know what to say.” Cyrus looked back down to Therion’s tightly wound form. Even in his sleep he was panting, breathing heavily and quickly, his chest rose and fell far more rapidly than normal.

Ophelia walked forward and sat beside Cyrus. “I can take over your duties now Cyrus. You should go rest.”

“No.” he responded uncharacteristically curtly. As if surprised, he quickly added, “I wouldn’t sleep anyway- besides. He was injured protecting me- I should be the one to watch over him.” 

“You don’t have to do so alone.” she gently placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “We care about him too.”

“Pardon… I did not mean to imply you didn’t, of course… I just-” yet he didn’t complete the sentence.

“Feel obligated? Feel guilty?” Ophelia finished.

“He’s dying- or close- because of me. I cannot recall a moment in my life that I felt more foolish.”

“He jumped in to save you because he knew he could handle the consequences better than you. For all his attitude, for all the prickly anger he uses to shield himself… he is rather selfless. I doubt he would do anything differently if given the chance.”

“But… if he doesn’t-”

“He will. You said so yourself earlier.” Ophelia rubbed Cyrus’s back one last time and stood up. “Eat something. Drink some water. If you plan on watching him all night then you will need your strength. One of us will check in with you every so often.” 

“Very well.”

Ophelia slowly walked towards the stairs. “Cyrus.” She called.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps some ice magic will help alleviate his fever.” she smiled and turned to leave.

Cyrus placed his hand over his face.  _ Me. A mage. Forgetting I have magic. My intelligence today is truly astounding.  _

Cyrus turned to face Therion again. He was burning hot to the touch and a rash was forming all across his body. “Worry not friend. I’m still here.”

Icicles grew out of the sides of the cot and Cyrus felt his nerves calm a bit when he noticed Therion’s breathing slow to a fairly normal level.

_ I truly am a fool. _

~~~~~

_ I am unable to comprehend what is wrong with me today Therion. I feel so utterly useless and idiotic. You jumped in to save me, and now you lay here burning hot with viper venom coursing through you. Alfyn said all we could do was make you comfortable and wait as you fought it.  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ I hate waiting. I’m not the most patient person I must admit. Did you know- I once was directed to write a forty page thesis on non-military practical applications of dark magic? I completed the paper in three days despite being given two months and my professor at the time was so stunned that they asked if I wanted to teach the class for him. I quite jokingly said I would.  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ Whatever happened to him… Yvon. I remember studying under him so enthusiastically- he personally offered me a teaching position at the academy- he was a good friend… even if we didn’t always get along. What drove him to such madness? What happened to that professor who made jokes and inspired young people to learn?  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ I just don’t understand people Therion. _

~~~~~

Therion groaned as his heavy eyelids dared to grind open. 

Still, he could hardly see through the blurry vision. 

He shivered, even though he could feel the heat in his body ravaging his insides. 

He blinked, once, twice, and slowly his vision cleared.

Surrounding him were small ice outcroppings; his mind didn’t quite process their purpose.

It hurt to move his neck, especially with the gaping wound in his shoulder still screaming profanities into his venom ridden body. He turned to look anyway, to see if his spectre was still here.

The blob of a figure that he had seen earlier now had a face, and Therion processed that Cyrus was watching over him. 

His head had lulled forward and he slept sitting up, neck bent over in what would no doubt give him terrible pain in the morning. A small trickle of drool seemed to run down his chin and Therion could laugh if it weren’t for the fire still coursing through him.

Cyrus looked terrible, his appearance in the exact manner he’d never let stand. Matted, greasy hair spilling out from its hold, robes dark with sweat, blood gathered, unwashed, on the slashes criss crossing his face and the dark purple bruises blooming over it.

_ Beautiful.  _ He thought without thinking.

_ Beautiful.  _ Therion wanted so badly to touch his face.

“Idiot.” he croaked in a voice barely recognizable as his own. 

Therion gently, slowly, reached his hand between the icicles lining the perimeter of his sweat soaked cot. It was nearly unbearable to move, and he winced as he noticed the hideous rash crawling up his arm. He reached out anyway, and found Cyrus’s hand- deciding his face was too far to reach.

He felt like a child seeking affection after injury. But the comfort it brought him outweighed the momentary shame. 

Therion puffed out a heated breath and closed his eyes again, exhaustion took no time dragging him back to sleep.

~~~~~

Cyrus awoke and his head shot up to attention. Immediately, he regretted the sudden movement and he felt a terrible ache in his neck. He groaned and reached up to rub it, but quickly realized his hand was not free.

As he gingerly looked down, he found that his fingers were entwined with Therion’s. He stopped for a moment, stunned to silence. His mind buzzed with incoherent thoughts and confusion even as he squeezed Therion’s hand. Cyrus felt his heart rate increase and something warm well up inside. 

He blinked and willed the feeling down, Therion was breaking out in a terrible rash.

His whole body, head to toe, was covered in splotches and looked rather painful. His fever was still terribly high as well. 

Still, hope bubbled up inside him- Therion had found the energy to reach out and grasp his hand, and his chest was rising far more steadily than it had been earlier in the night.

The icicles he had summoned to help cool Therion’s hyper-heated body still jutted from the ground around his cot.

“Therion. I’m still here, friend.”

He squeezed Therion’s hand.

“I’m sorry for being the cause of yet another scar on your rather beautifully carved body. If it helps, I find them rather artful. Still… how did you end up with so many? What kind of life have you lived? What kind of world has done this to you?”

He paused.

“I would take some. I would share them with you. From the snippets of your life that we have witnessed, I can tell you have suffered. You would probably punch me if you were yet conscious. But I would, I would take some of those scars and wear them happily.”

Cyrus sighed.

“You aren’t alone Therion. I will always be ready to help you with anything… at a moment’s notice, even after our journeys’ end. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Cyrus felt his heart beat out of his chest as his free hand moved to wipe Therion’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“You don’t have to face the world alone anymore.” He ran his hand back, back through the white locks that even matted with sweat were soft as snow.

“You have m-” he stopped. “Us.”

Cyrus held his hand like that for what felt like hours. The rise and fall of Therion’s chest placated Cyrus’s fears and Cyrus talked to him, babbling about anything he could think of.

Finally, the sun began to creep over the horizon, and Therion’s eyes creaked open as he released a groan of pain.

It was rare that Cyrus felt so deeply, but he could have cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is thought without thinking good english? Maybe not- but that fit best in the moment XD   
> Therion survived but now the side effects begin and I have been researching serum sickness. Next update might be a little longer than a week since I have some things to do but I hope to be back very soon!

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me for fic updates on [ Twitter!](https://twitter.com/TsarAlek)


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